


Linger

by 7HedwigtheBoo7



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Auror Harry Potter, Drabble, M/M, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2017-09-24
Packaged: 2019-01-04 18:55:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12174687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/7HedwigtheBoo7/pseuds/7HedwigtheBoo7
Summary: Draco hadn't seen Harry for seven years. Then, an owl arrives.





	Linger

Draco hadn't seen Potter for years. Seven to be exact. When he had received an owl about getting his name cleared with the Ministry, he hadn't expected it from the Saviour of the Wizarding World.

 

_Mr. Malfoy,_

 

_Expect the presence of an Auror within the hours of 9 to 11am tomorrow morning. Please keep your floo accessible._

 

_Thank you,_

 

_H. Potter_

 

Bastard. How dare he?

Draco liked to sleep in. Especially Saturdays of all days. Potter thought he can just demand things and everyone would listen and obey. He was praying to Merlin that it would be anyone else but Potter who showed up. He'd take Weasley over Potter. Anyday, anytime. He can take the Mickey out of Weasley easily. But Potter...Potter rubs him the wrong way. Yes, he hadn't seen him in years but his face hadn't exactly been out of sight. The Prophet usually liked to feature the Boy-Who-Lived on it's front page. His engagement (and breakup) from Weaselette, him outing himself as bisexual after being spotted with a muggle bloke, and of course, the melodramatic Harry the Hero article on the new wizarding orphanage he opened that mainly survives on his funding.

 

Draco didn't want to see him. Didn't want to face the farce that was Harry Potter. Even if he knew that most of this was to sell papers by exaggerating the reality and hiding any imperfect details.

He still saw Potter as arrogant, stuck-up, and cocky. He couldn't give any examples of course, but it suited him just fine to paint a different picture of Potter than the rest of society. He hated hero-worship.

 

Sometime after nine, Draco heard his floo downstairs and jumped abruptly from bed.

Great. They couldn't do the later part of the “9 -11 am” time slot. He needed tea. And a shower. He skipped the bathroom and walked downstairs, tying his robe around himself as he reached the last stair. Potter stood in front of his fireplace, looking disheveled, yet composed at the same time. Draco swallowed as he stared at Potter's muscular arms and legs, covered by a tight-fitting crimson jacket and trousers. Harry swallowed back, deepening his frown and looked down; kicking pieces of ash off his black, polished shoes.

 

“You're clean, Potter,” Draco said politely, not taking his eyes off of him.

“Would you like tea?”

 

“I can't stay very long...” Harry started.

 

“I wasn't offering a full breakfast.”

 

Potter slightly raised his brows and looked to his right, pretending to notice something outside the window.

Draco's tea was ready in minutes.

 

“Have a seat,” he walked past Harry and set the tray on the coffee table between two sofas, Potter sitting across from him.

 

“So...” Harry began. “I just need your signature on this statement. At the end of it. You can read it through." 

 

Draco flipped though the pages quickly. “This is a bloody book, Potter.”

 

Harry inhaled loudly; Draco watching his chest suddenly drop to his belt.

 

“You don't have to read every word...”

 

“Why not? I want to know what I'm signing,” Draco responded, not unkindly.

 

“Its not going to get you in future troubles, I promise.”

 

Draco slowly raised his eyebrows along with his chin, looking at Harry straight in the eyes.

 

“Oh? And I can trust you?” Draco kept his tone curt and civil.

 

Harry glanced down and up again, keeping Draco's stare. He wasn't frowning, but didn't smile either. He kept his gaze and didn't show any nervousness. His eyes burned Draco's, and the fiery emeralds behind those glasses sped up Draco's heartbeat and made his palms sweat.

 

“I didn't come here to fight with you, Malfoy.” His tone was equally calm and courteous. Draco wasn't insensitive enough not to catch the slight twinge of sadness either. Potter sounded emotionally exhausted, almost like he'd given up every fight left in him.

 

This wasn't what Draco was expecting at all. He hadn't even wanted Potter here in the first place. But this Potter wasn't the image in the newspapers. He needed to give Draco a reason to keep his beliefs in place. He wanted to see an egotistical, self-righteous Potter. He needed to keep convincing himself that it was better to hate Potter instead of pathetically sweating and swallowing in his presence.

 

“I wouldn't fight you, Harry. I'm not a muggle you picked up at the gay bar Merlin knows where. Those I choose to fight with, even, have to be worth my time.”

 

“So you've evolved then, from our Hogwarts years.”

 

Draco felt himself getting warmer. He wasn't sure if it was anger or the fact that Potter was finally retaliating.

 

“I have, apparently,” he said proudly, squashing the hurt deep inside his stomach. “After all, you are here, the saviour of our world, sitting in my own living room, doing me a great, tremendous favour by returning my rights to practice magic without constraints. How did I become so lucky?”

 

“By having someone argue face to face with the Minister herself, you git. You know how many strings I had to pull? You're welcome, and now please sign the bloody paper so I don't have to linger here much longer.”

 

Draco was angry. He felt even warmer and held his breath. He stopped eying Potter and clenched the stack between his fingers, seeing the tips of them turning white. He forcefully ripped off the last page, threw the goddamn pile in front of Potter, and scribbled his name dramatically on the last line; taking his time as the quill danced between his fingers. He kept staring at it after he finished, admiring his penmanship, because he didn't know where else to look. He dropped his quill to the side, a bit of black ink staining the wooden table.

 

Potter slowly took the parchment from him, gently adding his own name right next to Draco's. Draco was staring at Potter's hands. Rough and covered in scars that looked like they used to be blisters. Knuckles protruding largely with short, clean fingernails. His every movement was refined, even if he looked battered.

 

Draco swallowed again.

 

“You're free to go. Next time, don't bother so much about former Death Eaters. I never asked you to risk your job.”

 

“I didn't.” Harry looked up. “I know how to play their game. I'll speak when I think things are unfair. Its been seven goddamn years. I'd feel miserable as a wizard not being able to use all my magic. Its not out of pity. Its about justice and bloody common sense.”

 

Draco wasn't able to look back at him.

 

“Sorry to have bothered you on a Saturday.”

 

_Don't leave. Don't leave yet._

 

Harry stood up and straightened his belt back to its proper position.

Draco's eyes wandered.

That belt with it's large, gold buckle resting right above...

 

_Fuck._

_Don't leave._

_Don't fucking leave._

_Stay longer._

_Linger...._

 

“Thanks for the tea, Malfoy.”

 

They both looked down at the two, delicate white cups, which were never touched.

 

Harry stretched his hand, waiting to shake Draco's, but Draco didn't look up. That goddaman belt. And those hands. The nails. The knuckles. His legs, which were standing a bit apart, thin, yet muscular. And those toned arms, covered in dark red cloth, hugging his shape.

 

Draco stared intently onto his own hands, resting on top of his knees. Pale and thin in comparison to Potter's. Without a single scar or blemish.

 

He hadn't felt this lonely for a long time.

 

He strongly exhaled the breath he was holding and stood up. He looked into Potter's eyes but didn't take his hand.

“Thank you, Potter.”

 

He walked slowly back up the stairs, never glancing back.

He could still smell Potter. Incense and vanilla and cinnamon and those arms and legs and hands. Bright emerald eyes piercing inside his head. He fell against the wall as he heard the floo take Harry away, and softly landed himself unto the floor. Painful tears rolled down his face.

 

His image of Potter had shattered. It cut him deeply and he knew he would replay this scene in his mind over and over again. Potter always had this affect on him. Potter always lingered...

 

 


End file.
